


to those who dream

by Zayrastriel



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Newt Is Not Oblivious, Smitten Original Percival Graves, Sugar Daddy Percival Graves, confused Newt Scamander
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-16 08:46:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17546420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zayrastriel/pseuds/Zayrastriel
Summary: Percival Graves knows what he wants - and what he wants is to take care of the ridiculous, beautiful man who saved his life. Newt is equal parts confused, amused, and aroused.(Alternating Chapter POVs.)





	to those who dream

“Ah, Mr Scamander. Wonderful. These are for you.”

Newt didn’t think much of the fact that, when he timidly entered Director Graves’s office on the wizard’s first official day back, it was to find that all of his permits had been approved.

“Thank you, Director,” Newt replied politely when the stack of papers was pushed across the large oak desk towards him.

The other man glanced up at him briefly from the even larger pile of paperwork that he seemed to be reading through, and gave the magizoologist the slightest of nods. “Take a seat. Please do inform me if anything is out of order, or if any forms are missing.”

The chair into which Newt sank, on the other side of the Director’s desk, was rather more comfortable than he might have expected. Then again, Newt reminded himself, it wasn’t as though he could know exactly what to expect from this Graves. The _real_ Graves.

A quick flick through the papers indicated that nothing was indeed missing. In fact, there were some rather…unexpected…additions to the already-extensive list of forms that Newt had originally filed.

It wasn’t that Newt expected anything for having found the man (or at least, for having followed the creatures who had finally tracked Graves to a small apartment in the heart of Brooklyn). But it is hardly inconceivable that the Director would feel some sense of gratitude.

 _I suppose I hadn’t expected that gratitude to extend to this_ , Newt thought, equal parts concerned and amused by the signature Graves had left on the permit for the Nundu – just a little more angular and indented than the others, as if he had been clenching his quill while writing.

No; it was what caught Newt’s attention after that that left him more than a little thrown.

“Director Graves…” he said, trying not to sound as shocked as he felt.

The older man didn’t even look at Newt this time as he said, “yes? Any issues?”

 _Issues_ might have been the wrong word. “No, no,” Newt hastened to qualify. “No issues. It’s just. Well.”

Something in Newt’s tone seemed to attract Graves’s attention; setting his quill aside, he finally met the British wizard’s gaze with an impassive expression. It was the first time they’d actually looked each other in the eye, Newt realised suddenly, since the man had opened his eyes in the hospital bed as Newt held his hand helplessly.

 _“Thank you,” Graves had said simply. Despite the heavy bags under his bloodshot eyes and his scraggy, gaunt face, he had held Newt’s gaze with an intense fierceness that had made Newt simultaneously want to turn away, and to never stop looking at the man_.

“Well?” The Director’s tone, though commanding, held just a hint of amusement.

Newt snapped out of his reverie with a quick shake of his head. “It’s just that, well,” the magizoologist stammered, “these all say that they’ve been filed.”

While still unreadable, the other man’s expression seemed to soften slightly. It was a good look on him, Newt noted absently; eased those angular and proud features from attractively intimidating to intimidatingly attractive. “Yes?”

“Um. But. The filing fee. That is-”

“Oh, is that all?” The frown that had begun to form on Graves’s face disappeared as he waved a dismissive hand. “I paid it,” he said casually, seemingly oblivious to the widening of Newt’s eyes.

A form for one Niffler – likely the cheapest – had cost a hundred dragots; a good seventeen or eighteen Galleons, by Newt’s estimation. Before arriving in America, he had estimated the total amount he would be forced to pay at least two hundred Galleons. Over a third of his monthly salary, but worth the effort.

With the number of forms that Graves had filed on Newt’s behalf, the amount would have to be over…four hundred. Four hundred, and Newt had no idea how expensive the Nundu permit must have been.

Four hundred Galleons. By Newt’s admittedly vague estimation, the Director must have spent almost two and a half _thousand_ dragots.

“Director Graves, I can’t possibly accept that.” Newt’s voice came out strangled, but he didn’t particularly care. _Two and a half thousand dragots_.

He didn’t even realise that he had pushed himself to his feet until the man rolled his eyes, leant back in his chair, and said – still in that amused, cursedly casual tone – “Mr Scamander, please sit down.”

Newt obeyed sheepishly, as the man continued. “I am fortunate enough, Mr Scamander, to have been born into no small measure of wealth, and to have invested that wealth wisely. An inexpensive and quick favour such as this is no stretch for me at all, though I will admit that dealing with the filing office did rather stretch my patience.”

“Yes, they’re rather unforgiving people,” Newt agreed sympathetically, until the rest of the sentence actually processed in his brain. “Wait!” he absolutely _did not_ yelp. “Inexpensive and quick? Mr Graves, I appreciate what you’ve done but this isn’t buying me lunch.”

“Oh?” The man tilted his head slightly, something calculating glinting in his gaze. “So you wouldn’t object to lunch? How do you feel about dinner?”

His cheeks were burning red – Newt could feel it. His face was flushed and his eyes were wide, and the fact that the Director’s lips were quirked slightly in what was starting to feel like predatory triumph did not bode well for any potential coherency of response.

“Dinner, I mean,” Newt tried, “dinner is always, well, it’s a good…thing…I think…?”

“Excellent,” Graves said briskly, before Newt could make a last-ditch attempt at recovering the situation. “How does 7pm sound? I understand you’re currently residing with the Goldstein sisters?”

“I – yes?”

“Wonderful. 7pm outside their residence. Now, as much as I would love to enjoy the pleasure of your company,” the Director continued, as Newt continued to stare helplessly at him, “it appears that Mr Grindelwald has left my Department in somewhat of a mess, and I would prefer to be able to enjoy my time with you tonight without this hanging over my head.”

Graves smiled at Newt then. For a split second, it was unguarded and warm, affectionate in a way that almost had the magizoologist leaning towards the older wizard till he realised what he was doing an caught yourself.

“A-alright,” Newt mumbled, “7pm. Have a good day, Director Graves?”

One last lingering look before the Director repeated, “7pm. You too, Mr Scamander.”

It wasn’t until Newt was wandering out of the Ministry, permits in hand, that he realised just how neatly Graves had played him.

And, perhaps a little worryingly, just how little he _cared_.

**Author's Note:**

> Probably going to be two chapters, miiight be more? Though I think it works as a oneshot as well. (Help???)


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